


Written in the Stars

by purplefury



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Healing, Light Angst, M/M, Stargazing, achilles loves patroclus A Lot, there's Sad Man achilles and then there's Mushy Man achilles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplefury/pseuds/purplefury
Summary: “The stars. You wish to see them again?”“You speak as if you can change this yourself.”Achilles shakes his head. “Perhaps you’re right. But I shall think of something. It’ll take time, but I will. I must.”Patroclus misses the stars. Achilles thinks he can remedy that, but he’ll need some help.
Relationships: Achilles & Nyx (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 120





	Written in the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Bircjosta on ao3 for inspiring the premise of this piece!

Staring, pondering, and staring again. Achilles finds himself repeating the motions wherever he resides, from the halls of the House to the quiet glade in Elysium. This time, he scrutinizes a large sword beneath blue light, half-buried with a hilt covered in green moss. 

Warriors often claim that weapons are extensions of themselves, that one’s weapon of choice reveals an aspect of their character. Yet, this claim is only valid if they achieve glory. Suffer a great loss? Blame the weapon. Blame the alleged curse it set upon the battlefield, and sever one’s connection. An aspect of nothing. Only when the warrior wins do weapons earn their place in paradise. By extension, do they share in such glory? 

Achilles abandoned any sense of glory long ago. It was all he desired, in a past life. He resigned himself to a forgotten fate, but here and now, many shall remember him for better reasons.

He shakes the thoughts away, and the intensity leaves his eyes. 

“I’ve almost forgotten that look,” Patroclus chimes in. “It suits you better when you’re not fighting. A warrior-turned-scholar, hm?”

“Something like that. It’s funny - for once, I am at ease with a dulled spear.”

“Oh, I doubt it has lost its edge. Merely taking a break, as you should be doing.”

A chuckle. “Perhaps I was observing for too long. But, thank you for giving me the time to do so.”

“I’m good at waiting,” Patroclus teases, kissing him on the cheek. “Jest aside, know that I support your endeavors, my love.”

“I know you do, Pat, and I am grateful.” Achilles stretches his arms and sighs. “Anyway, I think that’s enough staring, for now. Think I need a change of pace.”

“Good thing I’m here, then,” Patroclus stands from his spot. “I encountered this lovely waterfall while you were away. Come, let me show you.”

“Oh! Please do.” 

Patroclus grasps his hand and lifts him to his feet with ease. Arms swinging at a leisurely pace, they leave their humble glade for something new.

They stroll along a wide path lined with tall trees, shimmering leaves akin to the laurels adorning Patroclus’ head. Glowing flowers sway against the breeze, as if greeting them. A spectrum of light shines against a teal sky, bathing the landscape in soft blues and greens, emeralds in the ocean. Shining, radiant… just like his husband beside him.

Achilles notes the difference in Patroclus’ energy - how the light reflects off his beautiful, brown eyes, and how their precious time consists of wanderlust. He imagines him rooted against that patch of earth for an eternity, alone and despairing. He knows his beloved once sought him out throughout this realm, only to emerge with nothing. Now, he wishes to share the sights, and Achilles eagerly follows his guide. 

The path narrows as they approach a tunnel shaped by overhanging branches. Bright blue dims as glowing blossoms light the way, sensing the presence of shades. His studies alone cannot compare to traversing Elysium in the flesh, so to speak. Scenic areas hidden from view, rich flora, high cliffs that stand tall beneath the earth… so much to take in. The past Patroclus had forgotten such wanderlust. Now, they can visit sights for which mortals would yearn. 

Crossing through the tunnel, they continue along the path and reach the waterfall, grandiose as Patroclus described. A mighty wall of water flows down pink crystalline cliffs, reflecting blue light off infinite facets. 

“Beautiful, is it not?”

“That’s an understatement, Pat.”

The sight reminds him of carefree summers with Master Chiron in the mountains. Simpler times, where they would wrestle each other into lakes and bask beneath the summer’s warmth, limbs sprawled against the ground. He cherishes those times, those changing seasons of Pelion, from sunlight to falling leaves to drifting snow. It’s different here, of course, but it’s a realm filled with potential new memories. 

Achilles kneels onto a soft patch of grass, patting his lap. Patroclus smiles as he lowers himself onto the ground, resting his head upon the spot and stretching his legs. A sigh in content, and he stares up at his beloved. Achilles marvels at his beauty, from the light against his dark skin to his thick, curly hair. He runs his fingers through it, and Patroclus relaxes. Gods, he’s the luckiest man. 

Time passes peacefully. Achilles laughs when a butterfly lands on his nose. “Just a stranger,” Patroclus muses, and Achilles falls in love all over again. It’s the little things that bring him joy.

The butterfly flies away, and they both return a dreamy gaze toward the sky. The way it glimmers... it’s familiar, like entities from which Achilles often sought guidance.

“Does this sky not resemble the stars we watched on the surface?”

A low hum. “The gods have a perfectly fine view atop their mountain, and yet they envision the stars beneath the earth, where most need not set foot, solely for the benefit of mere shades? If the sky does, then perhaps gods and mortals aren’t so different, after all.”

“An astute analysis.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” he says dryly. “Ah, but, I never answered your question, did I?”

Achilles waits patiently as Patroclus gathers his thoughts. He’s quite adept at waiting, as well.

“It does remind me of them. We would spend countless nights like this, among crisp mountain air, the comfort of the stars above...” Patroclus says toward the sky. Achilles reaches for his hand, and their fingers interlace. 

“It felt like just the two of us within the world,” Achilles reminisces. He squeezes Patroclus’ hand, finding comfort in its hold. “Beneath the stars, and now beneath the earth… it’s humbling."

Patroclus hums in agreement, gaze fixed toward Elysium’s sky. Achilles follows suit, watching this realm of ethereal green glimmer like gemstones. It's beautiful, in its own way.

“I miss the stars, Achilles.”

A plain, gentle statement. Patroclus is always gentle in his eyes, but this admission tugs at his phantom heart. Patroclus, hero of heroes, greatest of Greeks, left the earth before his time. Patroclus left because of him, when he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have.

“I miss them, too, Pat.”

A once proud Achilles hesitates to accept one’s forgiveness, if he can call it that. He understands he cannot earn forgiveness while doing nothing. He does his best to right his wrongs, to atone for his mistakes. After everything, Patroclus gives him another chance. He is so blessed, a blessing he feels he’s yet to fully deserve. They’re getting there. They have the time, and they have each other. Things shall be all right… right?

A hand cups his face, thumb softly stroking his cheek.

“I know that face, my love.” Patroclus gazes up at him, concern laced in his voice. “Rest beside me, won’t you?”

Achilles feels the absence of pressure as Patroclus lifts his head. It disappears, replaced by the rustle of soft grass as Patroclus coaxes himself to lie down. Their hands find each other, and they stare up at the sky. He takes a breath, as much as a shade can, and his chest feels lighter.

“Is this better?” 

Achilles tilts his head to kiss him.

“I think so. Thank you.”

Everything’s a little better with Patroclus beside him.

They rest for a while. The steady flow of the waterfall keeps them company, water splashing and burbling against luminous stones. Peaceful, calm, whole. When thoughts cloud his mind, Patroclus clears the air and brings him back. Always, is he grateful.

Achilles lets Patroclus raise his hand toward the sky, fingers pointing and connecting stray glimmers of light. The lights dance past, moving swiftly in contrast to their leisurely pace.

“Is it like this…? No, maybe this…” Patroclus muses.

Mortals connect the stars with their fingers, tracing bridges they may never cross. In the heavens, they must be further apart. Do the stars get lonely? Do they yearn for fellow lights in their infinite lives, so close yet so far? Do they lose their way each evening, lost among strangers, lacking their guide? Achilles felt so small when he gazed toward that dark expanse. Yet here, with his dear Patroclus, he feels that he can take on the world.

He’s done enough fighting, he thinks. Back then, there were no stakes for a weapon made for war. None could harm him until the stakes were too high, until it was too late. 

Not again. Not if he can help it. He’ll-- 

“--make things right.”

Patroclus pauses, and their hands fall lazily onto their stomachs.

“What was that, love?”

Dark hair falls in front of his face, and Achilles carefully brushes it aside. He loves the feeling of Patroclus’ curls in his hands.

“The stars. You wish to see them again?”

“You speak as if you can change this yourself.”

Achilles shakes his head. “Perhaps you’re right. But I shall think of something. It’ll take time, but I will. I must.”

“Achilles.” 

The name leaves as a whisper in the wind, sweeping Achilles off his feet if he’d been standing. 

“You know how I feel, do you not? We’ve talked. You need not trouble yourself over this, if the memories bring you pain.”

“I know,” Achilles repeats. “I know. Yet some things… they never truly leave you. I feel like I must do more to make amends, to give you another chance that...”

He feels Patroclus hold his hand again, bringing it to his lips. His touch is soft. Soothing.

“Suppose I can’t sway you, so I won’t. Just know your company is more than enough. You are enough.”

A laugh leaves as a huff. “If I’m enough to you, you’re everything to me. I’d give you the world, if you wanted it.”

“I won’t need that much. I’m all right, just like this.”

Another laugh, quiet and genuine. It’s enough. He’s here, they’re here.

The familiar sensation pangs in his head. Not painful, but steady, persistent. No sound leaves his mouth, yet the slightest shift provides enough of a cue.

“Is it time already?” Patroclus says. “It passed quickly.”

“I suppose it did,” Achilles sighs. Much time has passed since their reunion and its aftermath, and with each visit, they recover from the shock of it all. They slowly piece together fractured, unspoken sentences. Sweet nothings, once doomed to obscurity, become everything. Does he desire a more optimal arrangement? At times, yes. For now, they work with what they have. They savor it, treasure it through soft touches and the most tender words. 

“Care to escort me back?” Patroclus eases himself off the ground.

“Afraid you’ll lose your way?”

“These chambers can be confusing. You know this, yourself.”

“Hah, that I do.”

Patroclus loves to tease, and Achilles accepts it wholeheartedly. 

Their hands find each other as they retrace their steps, and said jest becomes reality as they enter numerous chambers. A fountain room, a sphere of butterflies, and-- the lad? He offers a swift “Hello, sirs!” and hurls himself past the adjacent gates. There’s crashing sounds. Perhaps time works against him, per one of the clauses on that strange pact. If he seeks to best the messenger god himself, then all the best.

They reach the familiar glade, calm as always. The same mist hovers over the Lethe; the same statue oversees the pair as they share a long, full embrace.

“I’ll be back soon, Pat,” Achilles smiles. “And I won’t forget what you said. I’ll think of something, I promise.”

“I shall hold you to it, then,” Patroclus says, pulling him into a deep kiss. “Take care, my love.”

His touch lingers upon phantom skin as Achilles pulls away. A final, tender look into each other’s eyes, and they part ways. Knowing there’s someone waiting for him, someone who still loves him after bearing such heavy burdens… such a strange feeling. It’s difficult to believe, even now.

But he shall heed his beloved’s call. He’ll keep his word.

* * *

The House of Hades is tame as usual, aside from the deep voice of the Master at his desk, sifting through endless parchment and denying shades’ placements. The Master reserves a modicum of excitement - if Achilles can call it that - for periodic travels to the surface. There, he and the Prince brawl, one emerges from the Styx, then the other, and the process repeats. Lately, the Master himself arrives first, wringing river water from his beard as he takes his place on the throne. 

Currently, he is out, and Achilles can work in peace. The atmosphere of the House feels more inviting with its unconventional decor. Gem-encrusted pillars, plush rugs, decorative objects - the lad showcases his eclectic taste with pride. Amidst the lad’s duties, he even spared time to honor his humble request: a set of luminescent laurels on the House walls. Bright blue, a reminder of his beloved when he’s a bit far away, yet not too far.

Achilles notices the change in his own demeanor, lately. The residents certainly make a point to tell him directly. Once perpetually sullen, the heaviness lifts from his shoulders with each visit to Elysium. Brightness fills the air around him. Shades catch glimpses of his smile when he thinks of fond memories with Patroclus. There are many of them.

Ah yes, his Patroclus. Achilles made a promise. 

The doors of the administration chamber open, and there’s the one who may be able to help. He bows his head in deference.

“Welcome back, O Night. How was your visit with Chaos?”

Nyx turns, and her steps are near-silent as she closes the distance between them. She radiates a calm and composed aura, no matter where walks.

“It went well, thank you for asking. They shared the Prince’s habit of shattering their urns upon first sight, however. It is the opposite of minding one’s manners, I would think,” she admits.

“Haha, I know a certain someone who might understand.”

“In any case, I trust your recent visit to Elysium was pleasant?”

“Very. It always is.”

They hold mutual respect for one another, and while Mother Night’s aura may deter some shades, Achilles sees the kindness within her heart. Raising her children, born from the Night or from the womb, is no simple task, yet she fulfills them with unconditional love. He regards her highly, always.

“And yet…” Nyx takes a closer look. “Something in your eyes suggests otherwise. Though, it is not the grief-stricken gaze from recent memory.”

That’s a good sign. He’s getting better, he thinks. Still, there’s another risk he must take. 

“Indeed, something occupies my mind. But if you have more pressing matters to attend to, perhaps it can wait until another time.”

“I assure you, Achilles, I can spare it.”

Take the risk. Take it. The worst she can say is ‘no’, right?

“As the Night yourself, your power extends beyond this House, does it not?”

“It does. Why do you ask?”

A deep breath. “If you would entertain a humble request… would such power be able to paint the skies of Elysium? One at which mortals gaze?”

“A mortal’s sky in the realm of the dead?” Nyx repeats, an air of authority present in her neutral voice. “That is certainly unique. For what reason do you seek this?”

“Ah, it’s not for me,” Achilles says. If pink still flushed his cheeks, why, his face would feel aflame. “Rather, it’s… it’s for my dear Patroclus. He left on terms I once believed would warrant eternal scorn, you see. I would’ve deserved it. Yet somehow, in the place where his heart once beat, he gave me another chance. After everything he endured…”

Nyx listens with calm patience. She is less of an imposing figure, and more like a close friend. She is down-to-earth beneath the earth.

“Anyway. He confided in me his yearning for the stars, and I told him I would think of something.”

“And, you think I may be able to help?” 

“Perhaps I was too impulsive in my statement, and--”

“It is not that, Achilles,” Nyx gently assures. “The way you speak of this Patroclus… you care for him deeply, do you not?”

“Haha, that I do. I do very much.” The laugh leaves without hesitation, soft and genuine. “He is… he is my light. I won’t lose my way again, that’s for certain.”

Nyx hums, and while her countenance shows little, the sense of warmth radiates from her being. He feels it, and he is ever grateful.

“In that case… very well. I shall do what I can, regarding your light’s yearning for the stars.”

“Truly, O Night? If you need some time to think this through, I--”

“Achilles.” 

Matter-of-fact, not harsh. The rambles cease.

“Ever since you stepped foot into this House, you have shown nothing but loyalty. I understand the circumstances leading to your employment, and I imagine it must have been difficult. Even so, beyond loyalty toward this House, you were loyal to your Patroclus. That dedication is rare among gods and mortals alike, and it is commendable.”

“Oh, I…” Achilles starts, his voice wavering. “I thought what I did was right, at the time. I wanted him to be safe, at ease. I’ve since learned how my actions have consequences, as well as my mistakes, and I try to grow from them.”

Nyx nods, empathy in her eyes. “I can see your efforts. And now, you and Patroclus are together, and shall grow together, in turn. Yet, growth can leave the soul weary. Allow me to offer some respite, for the two of you. In my honest opinion, I believe this is what you deserve.”

Achilles doesn’t know what to say. His lips move, but his voice catches in his throat. Gratitude, elation, relief that he can fulfill his promise.

“Since this will be a special occasion, take as much time as you need during your visit. I insist.”

“Oh?” He finds his voice again. “But to leave the House unguarded for too long… won’t the Master say something?” Or _do_ something, though he keeps this thought to himself. 

“Well, he will have to discuss matters with me, first. I have gone against his orders before, and I shall do so again, if need be. Remember, I was in charge of this realm first.”

“Yes, of course,” he bows his head slightly. “I didn't mean to question your authority, O Night. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, Achilles. You have served this House dutifully, and where your heart once rested… I can see it was a good one. Despite the hardships, your gentle nature always remained.” 

There’s a hint of a smile on her face, rarely observed by her fellow chthonic gods, let alone a mere shade like him. Many remind him that he is more than a shade, a guard, a weapons trainer. Slowly, he starts to accept his worth.

“It will take some time to prepare. Do let him know of this, on your next visit. It would be quite worrisome to see the realm change without explanation.”

“Of course. And please, take however long you need. The fact that you offer your aid so generously in the first place… I can’t thank you enough. I shall think of a way to repay your kindness.”

A tilt of her head, as if she’s gazing right through him. It’s no piercing gaze from the Master, where his ghostly self dims to translucency in response to his criticism. It’s kind and warm.

“You ponder often.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to do so.”

“I suppose I can relate, with my own personal matters. In any case, take ease in this request. I shall honor it, and… Patroclus would want you to be at your best, would he not?”

“...He would,” Achilles says, at ease in her presence. “He would tease me now, saying how I overthink. I’ll do my best.”

“I know that you will, Achilles,” she assures. A blink, and one may miss the smile that appears on her face.

He doesn’t.

They exchange nods and part ways. He stands idly at his post, staring across quiet halls and toward peculiar statues. The bright blue laurels offer a familiar warmth, warding off a gloomy air with their steady glow. Soon, he’ll see his beloved again with a promise fulfilled.

* * *

“My preparations are complete, Achilles,” Nyx greets. “I believe a break from your duties is in order. Make any final arrangements, and travel to Elysium as soon as you can.”

She radiates a different, more powerful aura, and Achilles understands that it’s time.

“Yes, O Night, I shall do so. Thank you again.”

Nyx nods and enters the administration chamber, its heavy doors shutting behind her. Perhaps it’s within the realm of Chaos that her hold over darkness amplifies. There remains much to learn about the Underworld, but for now, Achilles heads to his own private chambers. A walk down the hall, several turns, and he arrives, closing the door quietly.

The room is simple: a desk for his scholarly work, a simple chair, a bed, and a bookshelf of tomes. He asks for no special accommodations, being a mere shade, and all. And yet, the lad insisted on installing better lighting in his quarters, as well as a display case against the wall. Surely, he can spend his hard-earned gemstones on something else?

He glances inside the case, where crowns of woven flowers rest. They’re handmade gifts from Patroclus, crafted with love and great attention to detail. They give him strength.

Achilles stands in the center of the room, closes his eyes, and breathes deeply. A gentle light encompasses him, and he vanishes in a flash. When he opens them again, Elysium seems unchanged. The sky remains bright blue as always, and as he crosses the glade’s stone bridge, Patroclus is there. He’s looking up.

“Ah, just in time,” Patroclus turns to greet him. “The air feels different. I sense that this is your doing?”

“In a way,” Achilles starts. “Not entirely, though.”

It’s no longer the air alone that feels different. A teal sky slowly transitions into pinks and oranges, reminiscent of the sunsets they watched together as mortals. The grass around them is verdant green beneath golden light, and nearby shades stop and stare at the shifting skies.

“What is this…?” Patroclus remarks.

Achilles approaches, grasping his hand in his own.

“I would move the heavens for you. But I couldn’t on my own, so I asked for another’s aid.” Achilles smiles, guiding Patroclus out of the glade, past tree-lined paths, and beyond. “Let’s get a better view!”

The two jog at a brisk pace, two souls amidst lush greens as they pass curious shades and hurry along familiar paths. They’re soon greeted by grand cliffs that rise toward the sky. Golden light descends to dusk, and the surrounding flora glows to welcome this phenomenon. The first glimmers appear above them, twinkling. They’re the same stars Achilles witnessed upon mountains and battlefields, and they’ve arrived to shine once again.

Once-still stars begin to move, faster and faster, and then they’re flying across the sky. Arrows of light pierce the night, harming nothing in their paths. There’s no fight, no battleground. Only a beautiful sight with the most beautiful man.

“Look, my love…!” Patroclus lets go of his hand, stepping forward, racing the stars. He’s in front of the cliff face, and then he starts to climb. Luminescent flowers light a clear path of ledges leading to the top. He grabs onto one ledge, braces a foot against the cliff, and turns to face Achilles. His hair blows majestically against the breeze.

“Keep staring and I’ll win.”

Achilles’ mind starts working again, and the competitive side takes charge. Hands grip the cliff face as he climbs higher and higher, leaping from ledge to ledge as flowers guide the way. He grabs the final ledge and propels himself upward, rolling onto plush grass moments before Patroclus follows.

“You demigods,” Patroclus lets out a huff. A smile replaces his jest, and he moves closer. Achilles happily meets him in the middle, and they share a deep kiss. A safe distance from the cliff, they sprawl against the grass and stare at the sky.

Somehow, the stars look even larger here than on the surface. Colors shine vividly, bright blues and reds intermixed with white lights. Patroclus grasps his hand, and they trace the stars, forming bridges and connections once unseen.

“That’s you,” Patroclus says and scribbles haphazard shapes in the air. 

“Not even my good side?”

“Every side is your good side,” he answers, sketching away on his parchment of stars.

The gods be with Mother Night. This sky is wondrous, sublime, beyond anything he expected.

He feels a squeeze of his hand. Achilles squeezes back in comfort.

“What are you thinking about, Pat?”

A laugh, almost. “Many things.” 

Patroclus lets go, only to sit up from his spot on the grass. Curious, Achilles sits up, too. He waits patiently as Patroclus mulls over his thoughts. 

“For the longest time, I avoided the glimmer of this realm’s sky. I felt empty inside, and it felt as if the lights mocked me. I turned away.” Patroclus pauses, his lower lip quivering. “Perhaps… perhaps they tried to tell me to hold onto hope, to look at them and not toward the Lethe. Resist the temptation, however strong. Sometimes, temptation won, but… I tried my best.”

“You did, indeed.”

He gazes upward at the sea of shining stars. They applaud in their own way, as if they’re proud of his revelation.

“...It’s been so long, I…”

Achilles turns, and he doesn’t need to see the tears on Patroclus’ face to know how to act. Arms open wide, Patroclus leans forward, and they meet in the middle. Two halves become whole.

“Achilles...” 

The voice breaks, about to fall. Achilles catches it. 

“I’m here. It’s all right, let it out.”

And he does, with tears flowing down. Emotions are often difficult to express, even with those one can trust. With Patroclus, it’s the vulnerability that makes him who he is. Achilles hopes he may only shed tears of joy, if any, but any tears are valid. He’ll kiss them all, if Patroclus is all right with it.

“I hope this is everything you wished for.”

“It is everything.”

Achilles tilts his head as Patroclus nestles his face in the crook of his neck. He holds him close, so close, no space aside from the stars above. He kisses his hair and whispers sweet nothings, and love, so much love. It flows through him, igniting him. This flame scorches no earth, but radiates soothing warmth. A cold existence stands no chance. 

“My Patroclus, brightest of the stars, most beloved in my heart…” Tender words flow past, and he regrets nothing. He took the risk, and finally, they’re here.

After some time, Patroclus unsticks himself from Achilles’ embrace, wiping away brimming tears that blur his vision. 

“My Achilles,” he breathes out. “Thank you. This was the most beautiful gift I could ask for.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Achilles answers, letting his own tears fall. “It’s the least I could do after… after everything.”

It’s a gift that keeps on giving. The stars dim, welcoming ethereal, green lights in their place.

A gasp, in wonder. “Pat, look!”

Noticing his beloved’s wondrous stare, he follows. 

Emerald veils ripple and flutter in the sky, fabrics of light enveloping the night in warmth. They illuminate the sky, unfurling, dancing, chasing the ones before it. The lights bask the landscape in rich, verdant hues, captivating all shades residing in this land of paradise.

“I’ve never seen anything like it...” Patroclus whispers. 

Achilles marvels at the sight, another reminder that mortals are, in fact, so small compared to the vast wonders of the world. What is there to say? What words can compare to the splendor above them? None he can muster. And so, he watches. He turns toward Patroclus at one point, and dancing lights reflect off his eyes. He stares back, perhaps watching the same sight. They never tire of looking at each other. 

They need no words, for the lights in their eyes say enough. Achilles rests against his shoulder, and Patroclus follows. They just are. What could be better?

Verdant greens eventually fade away, and the stars return against a dark sky. Achilles gathers his senses, barely processing the events that transpired. He misses those marvelous lights already, and yet, his true light is right here.

“Can we rest here, love...?” Patroclus murmurs against his ear. “Just this once?”

The softest laugh. “Of course. And anytime in the future, if you so desire.”

“Now you’re spoiling me.”

“And I’ll keep doing it.” 

“Oh come now, think this through.”

“All right.” A moment passes. “I’ll keep doing it.”

Patroclus huffs. “Fine, fine. I know when to concede.”

Achilles folds his cloak into a wide cushion, and they curl against each other, limbs entangled beneath the blanket of Patroclus’ cloak. They kiss whatever skin is in reach, some kisses more passionate than others. The number may surpass the stars above, and who knows? They have an eternity together to reach such a goal. 

Kisses become caresses, then lingering touches, and then they’re asleep in each other’s arms.

* * *

Achilles wakes up beneath a bright blue sky. Divine intervention is over, but the memories are forever. Patroclus isn’t asleep in his arms, but rather, on the grass beside him. He’s still, and the smallest part of Achilles panics. He brushes his fingers against Patroclus’ face, sighing in relief when he shifts from the touch. Patroclus’ cloak is bunched between them, and Achilles quietly drapes it over his resting form. 

For a while, Achilles admires him silently, leaning forward to kiss his forehead and pick pieces of grass from his hair. Wrinkles are less prominent on his face, and even if they weren’t, it wouldn't matter. Nothing can take away from his beauty.

He’s cupping his hand against Patroclus’ cheek when he stirs, and slowly, he meets those lovely brown eyes again.

“Good… whenever it is,” Patroclus murmurs, leaning into the touch. 

“Did I wake you, love?”

“Yes.” 

Direct, as always. He’s awake and sees he’s a bit too far away. Achilles welcomes him into his arms as he shuffles closer. It’s as heavenly as the first time he embraced Patroclus so closely, so lovingly. Now and forever more, he can hold him under better circumstances.

Patroclus blinks up at a bright sky. “Ah, back to normal, is it?” 

“Indeed. Must have changed while we were resting.”

He hums in response, and a comfortable silence ensues. Patroclus rests his head upon Achilles’ chest, and Achilles strokes his hair. All is blissful.

“To whom do I owe my utmost gratitude?” he eventually says. “You mentioned one’s aid.”

“I did,” Achilles confirms. “We call her Mother Night, though for the sake of brevity, Lady Nyx shall suffice.”

“Is that so?” Patroclus thinks for a moment. “Well then, is this Lady Nyx fond of flowers? The flora here is plentiful, and never wilts. To return empty-handed would be most unwise.”

“That it would, Pat,” Achilles chuckles. “She is fond of roses, according to the flowers back at the House. I believe darker colors complement her choice of attire - deep purples, and the like.”

Another hum, and Patroclus rises from the ground. He picks up his cloak, shakes off the grass, and clasps it over his shoulders.

“I recall passing a field of such roses. It should not be too far from - where are we, actually?” 

He walks over to the cliff’s edge and peers down. “My, that’s higher than I expected. Was I too eager?”

“To see the stars? I did the same thing, Pat.”

“You only wanted to win.”

“And I did,” he winks.

Patroclus scoffs. “Well, take your time coming down.” And then he’s out of sight.

Achilles dons his cloak and makes his way down the cliff. He can simply jump, but he must be merciful, sometimes. He lets go of the final ledge, and his feet touch grass again. Patroclus waits at the bottom.

“It should be in this direction.” 

Achilles lets him hold his hand, and their arms swing lightly as they pass through fruit orchards and tunnels of trees. One such tunnel is longer than the others, the light seemingly moving further away as they walk. They reach the end, at last, and the tunnel opens up to a vast field of colorful wildflowers, mingling and swaying in the wind. Certain vivid hues escape Achilles’ knowledge, for he’s never seen them in their homeland. Studies can wait, however. They have a task to fulfill. 

Achilles examines the rows of flowers beside him. Violets, tulips, hyacinths - various species flourish in the same soil and climate. Eventually, he reaches clusters of roses, noting flowers with shimmering blue petals. 

Patroclus searches nearby, hovering around a group of black roses. He scrutinizes the petals and picks carefully, bundling them in his hand. As he arranges them, Achilles approaches from behind. He tucks a shimmering blue rose behind his ear and grins.

“You’re getting distracted, love.”

“One cannot help but be enamored in your presence.”

“Correct,” Patroclus affirms. He tilts his head, responding to his beloved’s gesture with a gentle kiss. “I think I will keep this on.” 

They finish gathering an abundance of roses - scattered bright blues among deep purples. Their cloaks flutter against the breeze, and Achilles thinks of pastimes spent with his Patroclus. 

“Do you remember that song we danced to, back when we were lads? Even war couldn’t silence our steps.”

“A song?” Patroclus closes his eyes, brows furrowing, head tilted down. A moment passes, and he turns away.

“I'm sorry, my love... I don't think so.”

“Oh…?”

And then he remembers. The Lethe, the desperate sips, the waters washing memories away. Memories he could’ve saved, had he been fast enough. Fleet-footed Achilles was rooted to the ground, hesitant, and scared. Scared to take the risk, scared to risk it all.

Genuine remorse fills his beloved’s voice. Achilles places a hand against his face to stop those avoidant eyes. He knows that guilt, and he wishes none upon him. 

Patroclus looks back. “You are not upset?” 

“No.” It’s gentle, always gentle. “No, never. I could never be, Pat.”

He doesn't blame him. He can never blame him. All he can do is try to right his wrongs, even if Patroclus sees it differently. Despite it all, Patroclus still sees the best in him. He may call him a fool, but never a failure.

They set their flowers aside, and Achilles pulls him into an embrace, hoping the gesture offers some reassurance. Patroclus rests his chin upon his shoulder, and Achilles runs his fingers through his hair. Shoulders ease and arms encircle his waist. It’s progress. 

"I'm so sorry…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing at all.”

He wants to blame himself, almost. But Patroclus wouldn't want him to inflict such pain, would he? It plagues them both, and it has for a long time. It won't plague them now. 

"Have we listened to it often?"

"We have." 

“I see.”

It was one of their favorites, initially requested by Patroclus to the delight of the bards. Perhaps he remembers a setting, rather than the song itself? Or a dance? He speaks none of these musings aloud, wishing no further guilt upon his beloved. One step at a time. 

"Could you… could you remind me? It must have been a wonderful song."

"It was. And, of course," Achilles smiles. A wonderful song befitting the light in his life: hero of heroes, greatest of Greeks, half of his soul, brightest in his heart. Even the beautiful stars cannot meet his radiance.

He clears his throat, takes in a steady breath, and lets it out. “It starts like this…”

He hums, low and resonant beside Patroclus’ ear. His beloved is silent, listening to this forgotten sound. They sway slowly in place, back and forth with the rise and fall of his notes. Petals drift past, and their cloaks flutter against the breeze, as if it, too, hears their song.

"This is nice," Patroclus whispers against his ear, and Achilles holds him closer.

A lull in the song, and Achilles adds the lyrics. His voice breaks in the middle of a higher note, and he inwardly scolds himself. _No no, not now, come on._ He can do better; he must do better, for Patroclus’ sake. He might remember, though even if he doesn’t, it matters little. Patroclus deserves the best he can give, right here, right now.

“Keep going,” Patroclus whispers again. 

Achilles repeats the song once more, voice growing confident and carrying through the air. It’s as the winds join in song, whistling to his tune, following his lead. The winds do not carry his charge into battle; they do not bolster his speed nor sustain the flight of his spear. None of that. That battle is done. Being with Patroclus is the only victory that matters, and nothing can compare. 

Until something does.

The moment Patroclus sings nearly knocks the wind out of him. Having followed along to his hums, he hesitates with the words, energy wavering, leaving blanks where memory betrays him. Achilles hums louder and confidently, encouraging Patroclus with a nod when he lifts his head. He cups a hand against his face and speaks through his eyes. _Yes, yes! Keep going!_

They keep going. The song repeats and repeats, and then Patroclus _sings._ Confident, resonant, magnificent. His eyes flash in realization, and Achilles’ joy is indescribable. They harmonize together, winds sweeping petals and notes across the sky, flowers swaying to their voices. Lyrics become laughter. Achilles’ feet leave the ground as Patroclus lifts him by the waist and spins, round and round. His long chiton flutters with each turn, and they’re dizzy with affection. Amidst swirling colors, Achilles claims his lips in a passionate kiss, cupping his face between his hands. Gods, he loves him. He loves him so much. A soft _thump_ , and he lies prone with grass tickling his nose, but does it matter? All that matters is that they’re here, two souls, two hearts, where they once rested, together.

“Aha, now we are very distracted,” Patroclus says between breaths, his hand rustling the grass, searching.

“But it was worth it, yes?” Achilles closes the distance, and they find each other. They always do.

“It was.” 

Strands of curly hair obscure Patroclus’ face, some catching in his beard. Achilles gently brushes the hair aside, eager to see his beloved’s eyes as if it’s the first time they captivated him. Something’s missing, and then he spots the familiar flower on the grass. Grinning, he picks up the fallen rose and tucks it behind his ear again. The resulting smile lights his world.

“My love… thank you. For helping me remember.”

“Haha, I’m the one who should be thanking you, Pat. For being part of this precious memory… our memory. I’ll treasure it, always.” A soft kiss, and another. “I’ll treasure you, always.”

“As you should,” he tries to jest despite his soft expression. Bashfulness suits him well. Then Patroclus brings his hand forward to kiss it, and he is the flustered one.

“Could we sing one more time, my Achilles?”

“Of course. As many times as you would like.”

They lie together in the fields, melodic notes unfurling from the roses.

* * *

“O Night!” Achilles greets with renewed energy. He wears a circlet adorned with vibrant flowers, courtesy of his most beloved. An extravagant bouquet rests in his hands, carefully arranged and now humbly offered to the Night herself, render of the heavens.

“This a gift from Patroclus and myself. We picked the best roses we could find in Elysium. The fields - oh, how wonderful they are. I hope you may accept this humble offering.”

He ends his grateful message with a bow of his head, holding the bouquet forward. For a moment, no one speaks, and the House itself descends into stillness. A bout of nervous energy rises from his abdomen, but it subsides as the bouquet leaves his hands.

“Oh, Achilles…” Nyx says, fondness clear in her tone. “These are the loveliest of roses. You did not have to go through such effort to gather these for my sake.”

“Respectfully, we did,” Achilles lifts his head to meet her gaze. “It was worth all the effort, and more. It’s the least we could do for your kindness. I’ve… I’ve never seen my Patroclus so elated, so joyful, during my time in this realm. From the bottom of my heart, where it once rested, I thank you.”

Where his smile was once restrained during initial employment, he hides no joy, this time. Maybe Patroclus would be proud, or at least remind him that he can be proud of himself, too.

“I hope my absence has not caused any trouble. More importantly - not to say security isn’t important, of course - how do you fare, O Night? I hope you have not overexerted yourself, doing what you have done.”

“Hm? Oh, you need not worry,” Nyx answers after a pause, enamored by the roses in her arms. “The act did require more energy than I am accustomed to, but it was nothing I could not handle. That said, I will be mindful of my limits and rest, should I need it. Thank you for your concern, Achilles, and for this generous gift.” She offers a small smile. “Please send my warmest regards to Patroclus.”

“I shall do that, and-- oh, yes! The two of us… haha, we picked quite a number of roses up there. You can expect the House Contractor to install additional flower stands in your work area. I hope that is all right.”

“Is that so? Well, I look forward to it,” Nyx glances around the House. “These recent changes in decor… they add a touch of life in the House, do they not?”

“They certainly do. The lad is a god of many talents,” Achilles smiles. He’ll have to thank him personally, when they next meet. For bestowing light, for being a light, for sparking the once-flickering flame inside of him. 

Achilles starts to turn and pauses mid-step. 

“A question, if you may entertain it.”

“I entertain many,” Nyx says, prompting him with a nod.

“The night we witnessed… there appeared these strange yet most splendid green lights. I’ve never seen them on the surface.”

“Ah, the lights?” Nyx raises a hand to her chin. “I took inspiration from those I hold dearest to me. For instance, my son, Thanatos. His line of work takes him across all parts of the mortal world, where the nights differ. The stars are vast and beautiful, in his words, and even he pauses to look up at the skies.”

“That puts things into perspective,” Achilles answers with intrigue. He only knows Greece, and a mere sliver, at best. To be able to phase across lands with ease - an exceptional power, indeed. Is there no rest for Death Incarnate?

“And, there is another.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

A hint of bashfulness? Yes, there’s no mistaking it. It flickers on her face, and she tilts her head away. He imagines a blush would appear upon her cheeks, if she was a mortal.

“The Queen Persephone. Unlike most of us residing here, she knows the skies above Olympus well. It is there that the gods rend the heavens to their will, painting skies unseen to those below. She once witnessed the lights you mentioned, and how they mesmerized her. And so, I saw it fitting to include them.” A pause, and another smile. “Green… the crossroads of cold and warmth. Whether that bears meaning, I shall let you decide. You are adept with the art of words, after all.” 

“You flatter me, O Night. If anything, that honor belongs to my Patroclus." He can’t help but smile when speaking his name. "A poet’s heart, he has, as well as a treasured place in mine. In turn, my heart shall always be with him.” 

Patroclus is the warmth that keeps the frigid cold at bay. A once-empty heart is a lush field of flowers, full and flourishing.

“I feel a similar way, regarding the Queen,” Nyx shares, pressing her palm against her chest. “After her absence, I was not sure what to do with myself, at times. Tend to the House, care for my children, serve dutifully. Anything to take my mind off of certain memories. Perhaps this is why we understand one another so well.”

“...Indeed.”

Stoic and sullen, yet she was better at masking the grief of loss. Achilles usually keeps a respectful distance from others’ personal matters, yet they’re here now, airing out their thoughts together. They are often busy, but he’ll try to reach out, reach further. So long as she gives permission, of course.

“Ah, I suppose I should be getting to my post, lest I cause further problems. Thank you again, O Night, and do let me know if you require my services. I will do whatever I can.”

“You have done more than enough, Achilles,” Nyx gently assures. “But, I shall keep your offer in mind. Do remember to take care of yourself, as well. Whether a god or a shade, we all feel. It is best not to ignore that, and... it is something I am still learning.”

“You are doing your best. I think that is all we can do, sometimes.”

“That, it is.”

With a final bow, Achilles returns to his post, where the rug is soft and quiet halls leave room for pondering. Things feel lighter, calm. Whole. 

He thought life’s final cruelty was to feel. He knows better, now. It’s a blessing, too.

**Author's Note:**

> achilles: gee I sure do love my husband
> 
> I left the song part open, so feel free to insert your favorite from your patrochilles playlist, if you have one! :')
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/purplefury_)!


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